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Aphids lined the walls and pushed through open doors. Barbs on their forearms stood at attention. We hobbled through the corridor, past the anteroom and the quadrangle. Energy pooled in my belly and traveled up my spine. Stay.

The aphids growled. Claws raised and reached, but their segmented feet remained rooted to the floor.

At the end of the hall, I stopped before a lone, driveling bug and extended an image of the Drone onto the unseen bond.

The aphid pivoted and led us to the stairway. The stairway to the lab.

Leave, I commanded.

It lowered its green hunched body and hissed. I drew back the knife, exhaled and let it fly.

It clinked off the rock wall.

Mother fuck. Another knife. Another breath. Release.

It landed with a thud. The hilt protruded from one eye. The other eye rolled to the ceiling and the aphid collapsed.

I plucked the blade from the skull and pushed our huddle forward. Marionette man shook harder with each stair to the Drone’s lab. At the last step, he twisted out of my grip. I lunged for his legs. My fingers slipped down his clammy calf.

His screams followed him up the stairs and faded into the dark depths. Fuck. There went my contingency plan. I touched the knife to one of the big guy’s neck rolls. “Don’t even think about it.”

His mouth dropped, and his head whipped in sharp shakes. I opened the door to the lab.

Our bare feet whispered along the flagstone, my knife angled at the potbelly. Traces of rubbing alcohol whiffed by. Machines beeped. One more staircase to go.

I unraveled the knife roll bound to my forearm, the steel jangling in my trembling hands. Then we stepped into the black hole and descended into the bowels.

I nudged the door. Its creak cut through the dark. The chef’s hand flew to his face against the onslaught of death and decay.

The dull glow of a sconce guttered next to Michio. His body, shackled to the wall, was a punch in the gut. I knew he wasn’t invincible, but seeing it was difficult to swallow. How had the Drone managed to restrain him? I imagined the army surrounding him, preventing escape. My heart knocked against my ribs.

Eyes closed, his head hung on his chest. No visible wounds. Maybe I wasn’t too late.

“Will you cooperate or join the doctor?” The Drone floated from the shadows, eyes seizing mine. His stiff slacks, collared shirt and long shiny curls, all black, melded with his sable cloak.

I shoved the chef in front of me, knife at his back. “What did you do to Dr. Nealy?”

“He is sleeping.” He slapped a painful hum at my chest, inflaming the ever-present network of aphid links battering me. “His supreme lack of fear for Allah’s judgment is arrogant. And unforgivable.” Venom laced his inflection.

My gut tightened. A buzzing hunger swirled around me. I kept my body angled behind the chef. “Release him. It’s me you want.”

“Release him?” He clicked his tongue. “Do not insult me, Eveline.”

The Imago stepped around the door. His smirk hovered over his .50 cal Desert Eagle, the gold barrel trained at my head. Two aphids crouched behind him, rib cages contracting, bodies swaying with unraveling tension.

I tested the knife’s weight, let it drop from my palm to my fingers. Could I chuck it and release a spare before the chef ran? Before the gun fired?

Deep breath. I spun the knife.

A boom shattered the room. Gun powder and dust clouded the air. My human shield slumped to the floor.

I enjoyed a moment of victory when the Imago gripped the hilt jutting from a spurting hole in his shoulder. He dislodged it, sent it clanking across the room. His pistol remained pointed at my head. I raised another knife.

“I can sense your telekinetic presence now.” The Drone cocked his head and flicked his eyes to the dead cook. “But it was invisible just a moment ago. Somehow, you are slipping behind shields and taking command of my troops.” A terrifying smile warped his features. “But you have a weakness. Something is keeping you from turning these guards against me now.”

Damn Yang. The aphids’ strings waited in my gut, thrumming to be plucked. But if I took hold of them, I’d pass out and reveal my weakness. Then I’d be hanging next to Michio. Or worse.

His long fingers vanished beneath his cloak and reappeared with a syringe. He uncapped the tip and touched it to Michio’s bent neck. “Drop the knives and stand here.” He nodded at the empty wall beside Michio.

My body hardened, primed for a fight. “What’s in the injection?”

“I have an exuberant supply of submicroscopic agents and genetically designed toxins. What should he be, do you think?” He dragged a pointed fingernail along Michio’s bicep. “He has the form and stealth of a mantis, but I bet he fucks like a scorpion’s dance. Did he give you a cheliceral kiss, little fly?”